Changing Winds
by Kaellana
Summary: Jack Sparrow stumbles across an ancient map, and knows just the girl to translate it. Trouble is, it was somebody else's first. Soon they find themselves thrown into adventure, danger, revelations, and ultimately... who can say? [On Indefinite Hiatus]
1. End of the Voyage

Well, this is my first ever fanfiction. Feel free to run away in terror. I'd really, really appreciate any constructive feedback you could give me, as I'd like to be able to use this story to help develop my writing skills and my ability to write PotC characters to some degree of success. My humble apologies in advance for the veritable cornucopia of spelling/grammar/characterisation mistakes this fiction is lightly to contain.

I do not own Pirates of the Caribbean or its characters, never claimed to, never will, this is a non-profit, amateur effort, not intending to infringe on the rights of any copyright holder, etcetera.

That said (and don't you feel optimistic?), on with the show.

* * *

**CHANGING WINDS**

**CHAPTER ONE  
_End of the Voyage_**

"Sail ho!" Crimp cried out from his position on the rigging. All hands turned from their work to look ahead, and, catching sight of what was indeed a ship on the horizon, picked up the pace, fuelled by a new sense of purpose.

A portly man, his face and clothes as grey with dirt as his beard and hair were with age, ran as best he could to the helm, and approached the man who stood there, his eyes too fixed upon the ship.

"It's a merchant ship, Cap'n, an' she's heavy in the water," he paused to catch his breath. "Do we -"

"We give chase."

--

"Captain Harding!" A crewmember burst into his captain's cabin, almost falling over himself in his haste to enter.

Harding looked up from the papers he had been studying intently. "Haven't you heard of knocking?"

"No, sir, I mean, yes, but, it's... it's..." he was clearly petrified by something.

"One of the passengers playing up again?"

"We just spotted...what I mean to say is..."

"Spit it out, man!" Harding rose to his feet. His face was beginning to gain the creases of age, and his tawny mop of hair seemed to be getting thinner by the day, but now it was clear to see that he still stood at almost six feet tall, and was broad to go with it - a most commanding presence. The sailor was hardly out of adolescence, still had no sign of a beard on his face, and the sight of his imposing captain was enough to force a coherent answer from his lips.

"A ship, sir. Pirates."

Instantly, the captain's face darkened, black as one of the many storms he had managed to take this ship, the _Vanson_, through successfully. "With me, on deck. Now." He stormed out of the cabin, the youth scrambling to follow.

Some other sailors had begun to gather on deck, anxiously looking in the distance, and at the sight of their captain they descended into a clamour of worried shouts. As Harding tried to command silence, one thrust a telescope into his hand.

Taking the tool to his eye, he tried to focus on the approaching ship, squinting slightly. Then he saw it. Suddenly, his throat felt as dry as the blasted sand that frequented these parts. "Jesus, it's the -"

He gave a sharp intake of breath rather than speak the name of the approaching vessel out loud. Then his eyes flickered to a group appearing on the corner of the deck. The passengers, most of them merchants, were beginning to emerge from their own cabins, trying to found out the cause of the sudden commotion.

The young sailor coughed slightly, deliberately, drawing Harding's attention back to the matter at hand.

"What do we do, sir?"

Captain Harding hated himself for saying the two words that followed, but there was nothing for it. With minimal cannons, and a ship crowded with civilians, both as passengers and as crew, there was no other choice.

"We run."

--

"They've seen us. All their sails are out. Tryin' to run."

"Well then, we'd best take the wind from their sails as it were."

The older man grinned at this. "Aye, Cap'n."

It was a simple manoeuvre. The pirate ship would pass close to its target, on the windward side. The ship and its sails would block any wind from the victim, causing them to lose headway. Losing motion meant losing manoeuvrability and ultimately the ability to carry on a fight - with no way of escaping, without wind, it would become a battle that they could not afford to lose, and that was not a risk most merchants were willing to take, whatever the value of their cargo. Simple, brutal, and very effective.

And for the _Black Pearl_, very easy. It was not known as the fastest ship in the Caribbean for nothing. Little by little it gained on the loaded merchant vessel, eventually reaching firing range.

"Run a shot across the bow."

"Aye." The older man relayed this order to the crew on the lower deck. Crimp, the man who had sighted the prize in the first place, drew a pistol from his belt, and fired a shot at the _Vanson_, the bullet skimming over the ship and past the men aboard, making no hit. But it had the desired reaction - panic began to set it.

The pirate captain drew his sword, muttering under his breath. "End of the voyage, gentlemen."

--

"They're firing on us! They're firing!" one of the passengers, a squat merchantman, cried out in alarm, running up to the captain.

"Calm yourself, Mr Jenkins, please. It was a warning shot," the gaze of Captain Harding never faltered from the approaching pirate ship.

"Warning? But they're pirates, they kill -"

"The pirates have no wish to enter a bloodbath, sir. No more than I do." With these words he turned and shouted to the nearest sailor, "Lower the flag!"

Jenkins gasped in disbelief, "You... you're surrendering! But we must fight!"

"With these cannons? My men were not enlisted to struggle senselessly with pirates," Harding gestured to the crew, who were hurrying to lower the flag from the main mast.

"But my shipment! It cost me... I demand that we fight!"

"With all due respect, sir, at the moment I could not care less about your demands, much less your shipment."

--

The crew of the _Vanson_ had thrown down their weapons and surrendered before the first of the _Black Pearl's _pirates had boarded. The older crewmembers knew the drill, and the younger ones were too frightened to do anything but. One by one the pirates boarded, some swinging on ropes, some simply walking on planks placed as a makeshift bridges between the two ships. Some took guard of the sailors and passengers (all of whom were now gathered on deck), whilst others waited for the final one of their number to cross.

The captain. The ship secured, he walked across a thin board as though the whole thing was simple child's play. Catching sight of Harding, he sauntered towards him; no doubt that this was his rival captain. His walk was foppish, almost seeming drunk, yet his eyes danced with amusement and his voice was utterly sober as he spoke.

"Lovely ship you've got, mate."

Not in the mood for banter, Harding got straight to the point, "Captain Harding, of the _Vanson_. And yourself?"

"Captain Jack Sparrow, of the _Black Pearl_."

Harding nodded stiffly, he had expected as much. How many ships had black sails? How many were crewed by a madman? "Your reputation precedes you, captain. I trust my crew can expect your quarter."

"Now why would I kill you when you've been so polite to me? It's a rare few who address me by my proper title." Turning his head, he nodded to his crew, "Take what you can." They laughed, and split up, some remaining as a guard over the _Vanson_'s crew, looking slightly disappointed at not joining the exploration of their prize. Still, they would all get an equal share later.

"Now, Captain Harding," Jack Sparrow flashed a grin at the man. "What do you say to having a little chat, about, say, the contents of your hold?"

--

"Don't take that!" Jenkins protested as Sparrow rifled through the possessions his crew were accumulating on deck and transporting to the _Black Pearl_, picked up a small sea chest, and looked at it curiously.

"It seems to me that you're in no position to make demands," Sparrow didn't even turn to look at the complaining man.

"Please, sir! That... it... it holds nothing of value to you!"

"Nothing whatsoever?" Jack walked over to the merchant, still holding the chest.

"The chest holds nothing."

"Then why," he locked eyes with Jenkins, "why are you so concerned as to the whereabouts of said chest?"

"It... it holds my papers! My accounts! The details of all the transactions I've made since leaving port! Without them..." he broke off, as though the outcome would be too terrible to speak of.

"Keep going, I'm riveted."

"The insurers! There'd be no proof of what I'd lost by your attack! No compensation! I'd be ruined! Please, I -"

"Well, we couldn't disappoint the insurers, could we?" he made as though to push the chest into Jenkins' arms, but instead, Jack snatched a small key from the other man's belt.

"What are you doing?" Jenkins was incredulous.

"I'm just having a look around. It's not that I don't trust you," Jack slotted the key into the heavy padlock that closed the chest, and turned it, "it's that I _really_ don't trust you."

The padlock clicked and the pirate opened the chest, his eyes quickly scanning the contents.

"Now, these," he took a wad of papers from the chest, covered with names and numbers, "are yours. But this -"

The merchant looked at what remained in the chest. At first he though it was empty, but then he saw, in the corner, a small piece of parchment.

"- this is mine."

The pirate snapped the chest shut, and put it under his arm, handed the papers to the merchant and turned, leaving the other man gaping like a fish.

"This is outrageous! We're on a peaceful voyage!"

Jack grinned at the exasperated man, "Tell that to the insurers."

--

It was evening, and the _Pearl_ was sailing away from the _Vanson_. They'd cast down the sails of the other ship and slashed them - repairable, but it would take them a time. Time enough for the pirates to make an easy getaway, back to Tortuga to spend their winnings.

Finally, after the ship was a good distance away, Jack gave up the helm to one of the few crewmembers skilled enough to take it, and retired to his cabin. He was about to kick off his boots, when he caught sight of the chest from the _Vanson_ sitting where he'd left it, on his table.

For a moment, he couldn't remember why he'd taken the object, but then he recalled the piece of paper that had been so different to the rest of the contents, old, torn and generally in very poor condition compared to the other accounts, which had been kept in near mint condition, meticulously arranged. Why the merchant would keep something so filthy, so damaged, so apparently worthless was a mystery. And mysteries were things to be solved.

Opening the chest, he took out the paper, and began to examine it in the candlelight. It had scratchy writing of some kind on it, but it was indecipherable. And there were flowing lines all around the page, almost like it was a...

"Bloody hell."

--

"You sure he's got it?"

"I – I... I'm sure, honest. Saw it tucked away in his coat when he came in."

"If you're lying to me -"

"No, Mister Abraham, I mean Mister Simmons, I mean Cap'n Simmons, sir, I mean -"

"Shut up," Captain Abraham Simmons silenced the gibbering drunk with a wave of his hand. "For the last time, you're sure Sparrow has it?"

"Aye. As sure as a, as a..." but his intoxicated brain was unable to think of a good example, and his mumblings drifted into silence as he took a large swig of ale.

"Go on then, scram," he dismissed the drunk with a wave of his hand.

The man rose to go, but then hesitated, "Uh, Cap'n Simmons, sir, you -"

Without a word, Abraham sighed, and placed a few coins on the table. The other man hastily picked them up and left, so hastily that he forgot to finish his ale. He'd have been a fool to stay around Captain Simmons when he was in such a mood.

Oh yes, Abraham had been very annoyed when Sparrow boarded the _Vanson_. But the annoyance was nothing compared to his fury when he discovered that the other captain had taken the chest and its contents. The merchant, or more to the point, the item he had in his possession, had been Simmons' target for a while now. He had been biding his time, waiting till the odious man finally arrived in the Caribbean and then...

But Sparrow had got there first! Taken the prize from right under his nose! By the reports he had received on the matter, the stupid merchant had practically told him the chest held something valuable!

Still, he was sure that the fool of a captain didn't know the story behind the map. Not that even _he_ knew the full story, but still, he'd wager anything that the infamous Jack Sparrow knew less than him on this matter.

There wasn't much time to waste. It wasn't long before the others would begin to pick up the trail of the careless merchant, if they hadn't already. And he had no desire to run into them again, not after the disaster at Lisbon.

He took a small green glass bottle out from his jacket, filled with a strange coloured liquid, and fingered its smooth surface before placing it back safely. It had cost a small fortune at the apothecary a few months back, but now he was to be rewarded in his thinking that it'd come in handy.

Walking to the bar, he paid for two drinks, and then carefully poured some of the contents of his bottle into one of the tankards. Nobody paid any attention to him, the pirates were all too busy drinking and brawling, and the wenches trying to get customers. And even if they did, none would be able to recognise him. He was wearing different clothes, his skin was smeared with dirt, not to mention the fact that he was wearing a hat, the brim pulled down low. So, invisible to the eyes of the customers, he walked to the dank corner of the inn, drinks in hand.

Here a small crowd was gathered on all sides of a man who appeared to be regaling them in some fantastic tale or another.

"- and then he points me in the direction of a patrol, and tells me to go check the north side of the port!"

At this the surrounding men snorted loudly into their drinks, and the women cackled in a high-pitched manner that they clearly thought to be the epitome of feminine mirth. By contrast, the narrator of the tale merely chuckled slightly under his breath.

"Go on!" a nearby pirate gestured to the man, "Did ye do it?"

"I'd love to tell ye, son, I really would. Unfortunately," he held his mug upside down, his eyes forlorn as nothing came out, "I seem to be having a slight shortage of something."

Abraham slipped to the front of the circle, and finding himself to the left of the storyteller, deposited one of the drinks onto his table.

"Here. It's on me."

"There we go," the man nodded in appreciation, and was about thank the generous donator, when a girl pulled on his shoulder. Seeing the man was suitably distracted, Simmons sneaked back out of the scrum, draining the other mug as he went, and headed for the exit.

"But I don't get it," the girl questioned. "How'd ye get into the Fort in the first place?"

"Now, it's not very polite not to pay attention, love. I already told ye that particular part of the tale."

"I know, I know - ye said ye did it with the carts and stuff. But, I mean, _how_ did ye manage t'do it? With that mob watchin' an' all?"

"Simple," he raised the tankard to his lips, eyes dancing in the candlelight. "I'm Captain Jack Sparrow."

And then he drank deep.


	2. The Mysterious Miss Harris

**CHAPTER TWO  
**_**The Mysterious Miss Harris**_

One clear morning, a ship docked at Charleston port in Nevis, and there was a woman aboard.

She was plain and clean, neat and tidy. Her hair was covered, her dresses were smart, but never too much so. She turned up at St. Paul's Church every Sunday without fail, sitting at the back of the pews, and joined in every hymn. She was friendly enough, always using 'please' and 'thank you' like a well-brought up woman, and had a shy smile for every passing individual in the street. A simple, quiet lady, who should have melded effortlessly into society. There was almost nothing remarkable about her. And yet Miss Harris was the local scandal.

For almost nothing was known about her before she came to Charleston. Usually after a person had been there a few weeks, the town gossips could tell anyone anything they cared to know about the person in question. They could reel off family members, trades, titles, every country the person had ever visited. Nevis had been a quiet island for the last few years, even in the large town of Charleston, and there was little for the women to do, no grand social scene like you'd find on Jamaica or Barbados. But despite their best efforts, Miss Harris was proving the exception to the rule.

They knew she'd been born in England, yes, but what city, even what county, was a mystery. They believed that this was her first time in the Caribbean, but there was no conformation of it. Still, she seemed to have adapted very well to the heat. Many English ladies soon collapsed from it upon arrival at the colonies, retreating to their beds for months. And then, where ladies were concerned, they had no idea if she was just a lady, or if she was really a _Lady_ - her social status had never been mentioned. They didn't know her father's income; they didn't even know his first name. And as for the surname - _Harris_ - well, that could mean anything, could belong to anyone.

When she first arrived, they put her at twenty-four, and as she gave no one anything to the contrary (not that anyone asked), that became her age. She was very well educated, almost indecently so, able to read and write, do mathematics and geography, and, if the rumours were true, spoke a little French. It was said Mr Bryant had taken her on to teach his boy history, a governess. And only having been here for two months!

How she learnt it all was a mystery though. She, or her family, would have to have had money to pay for a governess of her own, but if they had it, then why was she teaching now? And if she didn't have it, how'd she learn it all? More to the point, why, indeed how, would she come out to the Caribbean to earn money if she had none?

"Probably ran off with some Frenchman, and lost it all. It was a Frog, you mark my words," such were the whispered accusations of old Mrs Garnis at the market in the queue to the baker's stand, the sharp words of gossip masked with the delicious aroma of freshly baked bread.

"Yes, she struck me as the flighty type," Miss Sprunt nodded in agreement. Undoubtedly the woman had some connection with the French.

This was the first of many rumours that began to spread around Charleston, each more fantastic than the last. Miss Harris was the illegitimate daughter of a Baron, an orphan who was raised in South Africa, a young widow (her husband had been killed by Indians) who had a drinking problem, and was working off her debt.

Yet these were all spoken as far behind her back as the people could manage, and they were always polite to her face. As long as there was a chance she secretly had hundreds of pounds hidden under the floorboards, they showed her every courtesy, albeit blunt courtesy.

And so four years passed at Charleston, each one rather uneventful for Miss Harris herself, and yet each more exciting than the last for the talk surrounding her. For the simple crime that she kept to herself and sought to avoid attention, she became the centre of it. If ever a conversation reached an awkward silence, a new rumour surrounding her became the perfect solution.

Still, life went on. Eventually, Miss Harris moved out of her lodgings at an inn, and rented a small cottage further up the green slopes formed by the volcano that was Nevis Island, away from the town centre. She could be seen every evening walking up the dirt track after finishing at the Bryant house, clutching a basket with her teaching books and a little food from the Bryant kitchen in it. The people frowned and tutted at her climbing silhouette as they peered past the curtains for a few minutes, and then returned to their dinners.

Tonight was no different, and as the last curtain closed in the corner of her vision, Miss Harris gave a silent prayer of relief as she pulled her maid's cap from her head. Finally, she was alone, away from the prying eyes of the townspeople. She wasn't ignorant of their talk, despite their best efforts. Four years of it, and even if she'd been the slowest governess in the Caribbean she'd have caught on.

The sun beat heavily down upon her back even as it was setting, stifling the air with a thick heat that seemed impossible to escape. Today it seemed that not even a small breeze would be granted for relief. In the distance, a few birds were singing their evening songs amongst the foliage of tall emerald trees, and now and then a cry would rise from the undergrowth, some animal hunting or being hunted.

She continued up the path, humming absent-mindedly, her head swimming with dates and kings and queens from the day's lessons. Who'd have thought she'd be making a living out of this? Out of teaching?

_Not much of a living though._ She sighed, it was true, money was tight. Mr Bryant had been good to her; employing her despite the gossip, originally just to teach his son history, but when the main tutor left, he raised her pay and asked her to teach Joshua _all_ his lessons. She got two square meals a day, lunch in the schoolroom with Joshua, and then this parcel of leftovers to go in her basket for dinner, as well as her wages. It was a good deal, extraordinarily good for someone in her position. Still, it was beginning to occur to her that her dresses were getting looser by the week. And the money was never enough to pay the full rent for her cottage, she had to dip a little out of her savings each month - and her savings were dwindling. She hadn't had new clothes in two years, and she had had to sell some of the few she owned to pay for new boots not two weeks ago when her old ones finally wore out.

She was almost at her cottage now, and she fished into the pocket of the white apron that covered her powder-blue dress. Perhaps white wasn't the best word - it was grey from her weekly clean up of the schoolroom, black in places. It'd have to be cleaned before next Friday - yet another chore to do. Her thoughts flashed back to the present as her hand clasped the old key that unlocked the front door.

Opening the door, she walked into the cottage before shutting it, casting the place in darkness. She didn't need the light, she knew her way around, and candles were expensive. It was a simple two-roomed place, a bedroom and another room that served as a kitchen, a living room and a dining room. But there was a proper fireplace, and a privy out back. More than she could have hoped for.

And she tried her best to make it homely. She had little furniture, a large table in the main room with two smaller wooden chairs, her pallet in her room, her cooking utensils, a brass candlestick, a large tin bath -all poor quality, yet all of it was polished and cleaned regularly. Her prize possession was an old armchair by the fire, bought second, third, most likely fifth-hand from the market. The red colouring of the material had faded in time, but it was still comfortable, more so than her straw mattress, and many evenings whatever volume she had been reading would fall out of tired hands to the floor, and she would fall asleep here by the fire. She would curse herself in the morning when soot marks adorned her face and clothes, but there was no arguing that the nights she spent in it were the nights when she got the best sleep.

The floor was stone and the walls were a deep, dark kind of mud-brick, plain, but she added colour with flowers from the edge of the rainforest, deep reds and purples smelling of honey, and smaller yellow blooms that contributed the sharp scent of lemon to the strange fragrance. Her windows had curtains of a light cotton material that had been her Christmas gift from her young pupil, and when the lightest puff of air drifted by, they would glide up to let the cool air in. A collection of pale shells tied with string hung from one of the beams of the roof, collected in long afternoons walking along the yellow beaches, and they too would respond to wind, glancing against each other to make a soft tinkling kind of music. Tonight however, the curtains remained still in the shadows, and the shells made no noise.

She remembered in the darkness that she had to wash her apron, and light would probably be useful in that scenario, regardless if she normally needed it or not. Reaching out onto the table, she placed her basket down and took up her candlestick, and her old tinderbox. After a few tries, the flame was burning merrily, giving off a soft orange glow. She blinked a couple of times, getting used to the light.

Then she turned, meaning to start the fire, and screamed.

There was a man sitting in her armchair, as casually as though it were his own. A tri-cornered hat rested upon his head, battered and worn around the edges, grey where it had once been brown. The heavy coat that rested on the back of the chair was not in much better condition, and neither were his trousers, nor his waistcoat. His baggy shirt and the strip of linen tied round his waist below a grimy belt had been reduced from white to a grubby grey, much like her apron. His boots looked like they had never been cleaned. He wore some sort of makeshift glove on his right hand, his right only, and it was fingerless, fraying at the edges. All his clothes were joined in a unity of dishevelment.

His hair hung shoulder length, unkempt in a dark tangle of dreadlocks occasionally tied into tatty braids with beads and scraps of cloth. His skin was bronzed and hardened by sun, his beard was tied off in two sections with similar beads to his hair. He had a moustache, his dark eyes were kohl-lined, and what looked like a shabby red bandana poked out from under his hat. All a manner of rings adorned his long fingers.

A grin masked his face, like a cat that'd got the cream, golden teeth glittering in the new source of light.

"Hello, Etty."

The girl placed the candle down on the table, her hand shaking slightly.

"Spar...Sparrow?"


	3. Just a Friendly Visit

**CHAPTER THREE  
_Just a Friendly Visit_**

"The one and only. I know, I know, you just haven't been the same without me, Etty, I must -"

But whatever he had to do was never known, because before the words could come out, there was a resounding crack as Miss Harris slapped him across the face. Hard.

"What do you think you're playing at? Sneaking up on me, breaking into my _house_, you, you -"

"Pirate?" he suggested amiably, whilst rubbing his sore cheek.

"Don't you even start, Sparrow, don't you dare!"

"Etty, Etty," he opened his palms, and made 'calm-down' gestures. "Don't get upset now."

"Upset! I'll give you upset, Jack Sparrow, you son of a -" Miss Harris, who had been edging away, now began to advance towards him, hand raised.

"Language, Etty, language," he shook one finger as in mock reprimand. "What would young Joshua think of his teacher?"

Startled, Miss Harris stopped abruptly. "How... how do you know about J-"

"You'd be surprised how eager the folks down at the inn were to talk about you. I must say," his eyes flicked over her, "I never took you for a political activist."

"A... what?" Understandably, Miss Harris was a little confused.

"Apparently you were involved in a coup to overthrow the French monarchy..."

At this Miss Harris uttered a small groan, bringing her hands to her head in frustration, "Since when have you been a gossipmonger?"

"Since I came looking for a certain English lady by the name of Harris, last seen in Charleston. Ring any bells?"

"Don't be so, so..."

"So?"

"So like _you_, Sparrow!"

He sighed, "Can't help it. It's a curse, really. One that -"

"Shut up! Just shut up!" Miss Harris found herself shouting at the pirate before he'd finished his sentence. So sudden was the exclamation that he jumped backwards in the chair, flattening his back against the worn red material. She paused for a moment to run a hand through her hair, to collect her thoughts, to take a breath, before continuing her outcry.

"What gives you the right? You think you're so bloody untouchable, that you're above everything, and anyone else can go to hell! Some of us just want a normal life! I want -"

"Don't tell me you want to live like this," he gestured to the cottage, which, just by the very presence of another person seemed to shrink before Miss Harris' eyes, the ceiling seeming lower than it had ever been, the shells like a child's toy in a dollhouse.

Still, she protested. "Like what? Honestly? Safely?"

"Shut up on the top of a volcano, away from everyone and everything? Pull the other one, Etty."

"I'm teaching!"

"Teaching little gentlemen their dates? Bit of a change, isn't it?"

"As though you'd know."

"Course I'd know! It wasn't that long ago when you were -"

"Don't start! I warned you!" Miss Harris was getting more and more frustrated at his calm responses by the minute. She was shouting, screaming even, and he... he was just sitting in her armchair, feet crossed casually...maddening.

"Why so testy, Etty?"

"Don't... You _know_ why! I left it all behind me! I _wanted_ to leave it all behind me! And now you think you can just waltz in here and -"

"Now, now -"

"- no bloody respect for anything, the work I've had to do -"

"- settle down -"

"- if one of them saw you come up here, I'm finished, I'll be shunned, it'll -"

"Stop shouting and listen to me, woman!" Jack rose to his feet, locking eyes with Miss Harris. Her face was pale except for two red patches on her cheeks from shouting. In some ways, she looked much the same as she'd always done. Straggly brown hair, although now it was pulled up in a bun, a few strands escaping, and sharp blue eyes. Not overly tall, she still had the petite body of one who had been stretched and yet not actually grown in height; long fingers, straight nose, angular jaw, yet standing much shorter than him... but he could've sworn she hadn't been this thin before. And she used to have been almost as brown as him, even had freckles. Now her skin was a kind of ghostly white, attractive by the dictation of fashion, but not at all natural. It had faded through this voluntary isolation, by her locking herself in one house or another until the sun set. He'd never thought she'd...

"Well?"

Jack shook his head slightly, bringing himself out of his thoughts, "Well, Etty, you've... I'm not here to make you _do_ anything."

"Then why _are_ you here?"

"Well the thing is, I," he scratched behind his ear, "I wanted to ask you a favour."

At this, her cheeks turned an even darker red, and he instinctively stepped back.

"Get out of this house right now, Sparrow, or I swear I'll -"

"Wait, Jesus, wait!" he protested, and she stopped mid rant and raised one eyebrow expectantly. "Thank the gods," he placed his hands together in prayer position to punctuate this point. "Now listen, Etty, I just want you to hear me out, that's all. And if you don't want to help me after I've said all I've got to say, then I'll go back to Charleston, get to me _Pearl_, sail off this bloody island straight away, and ne're bother you again."

"Get to... get to your what?" suddenly, her voice was very quiet.

"Eh?"

"You... you got the _Black Pearl_ back?"

For a moment he blanked, and then he realised what she was talking about. Of course, she wouldn't have heard. "Aye, I got it backa whileago now."

"But... but you... we... how -"

"Sorry, Etty - I'm not starting that conversation up. Unless..."

"Unless?"

"Listen - you hear me out, and _then_ I'll tell you of me grand adventures over the last few years."

"I've got a right to know about the _Pearl_, Sparrow. Lord knows, I -"

"That's the deal. Whether you choose to accept it or not," he gave an careless shrug, "is up to you."

Her eyes narrowed, "Nothing funny? Your word you won't try something on me like -"

"My word! I give you my word on the matter, on the code itself!" he scrambled to comply. Miss Harris paused, considering the situation, before nodding cautiously. "Wonderful, excellent, really a great decision, Etty. What's for dinner?" He sauntered to the table to inspect the contents of the basket. "You won't regret it."

"I think I already am..." She muttered.

--

"So, what's the problem?"

Miss Harris and Jack were sitting at opposite ends of the kitchen table. Jack was digging into what looked like a cold chicken leg, a half bottle of rum within his reach. Miss Harris was cautiously sipping a glass of water.

"Problem? I don't recall mentionin' any sort of problem. Can't a man just visit an old friend for a drink, a nice sociable chat, maybe a -"

"You just decided to take a little jaunt to Nevis for a drink," she gestured to the heavens with both arms.

Her guest smiled crookedly at her expression, "Obviously."

"A little far out, even with the _Black Pearl_, wouldn't you say?" she retorted.

"Not at all. You've no idea how much I want a drink. I'm parched, wasting away -"

"You look the same as always."

"Thanks, love."

"That wasn't a compliment."

At this his eyebrows were drawn sharply down into a most un-amused frown, and his lips changed from a golden-toothed grin to what could only be called a pout. Her lips remained fixed in a straight line, by contrast, the epitome of seriousness. "Now, really, Etty, I -"

"Jeanette," she corrected him without missing a beat.

"Jean, I fail to be seeing -" he tried to continue but was cut off.

"Jeanette, Sparrow, Jeanette. I'm not Jean, I'm certainly not Etty, I'm not... I'm just Jeanette Harris now, so you can stop all that Etty nonsense. Now out with whatever this is all about."

Giving a most exaggerated sigh, the pirate rose to his feet and stepped towards the window, as though intending to watch the twinkling lights of Charleston in the distance, between the gap in the curtains. One could see the whole of the town from here, and it looked like some magical dell; some of the lights were static like stars, other moved around like ghostly spirits. Not that Jack was usually given to such sentimental thinking, but there was no denying the majesty of the sight before him. In the distance you could just make out the sea, a huge black expanse rippling slightly, like a sheet billowing on a washing line. Before he could admire the scenery fully, however, he turned.

"Well, all right, it's a small problem. It's this treasure -"

Jeanette groaned as he began to pace furiously, his arms akimbo. "You're joking with me, Sparrow. Not again."

"- and it's not as though I'm to blame or anything, but -"

"I highly doubt that."

"It's the truth, darlin'. I mean, how was I supposed to know that -"

"Sit down, Jack," she tried in vain to get him to stop all this pacing - it was making her dizzy.

"- dishonest, that's what it was, plain, bloody -"

"Jack," she tried again.

"- point is, love, I need your help on the matter because -"

"_Jack_," her voice was louder, firmer on this third try.

And it was third time lucky, it seemed, for he stopped pacing and looked up. "What?"

"Sit. Down." He sat. He was a brave man, but not brave enough to argue with the expression on Jeanette's face.

"_Now_ tell me everything."


	4. Once a Pirate, Always a Pirate

**CHAPTER FOUR  
_Once a Pirate, Always a Pirate_**

It was much later in the evening. Jack was now leaning against the wall rather than sitting down as he had been ordered. And Jeanette, whilst she remained where she had been, had a rather different expression. Before it had been a mixture of anger, confusion, and desperation. Now it was only shock, her eyes wide as she spoke.

"Are you saying, saying..."

"Saying?" Jack was unaffected by her disbelief. Hell, he was used to that - especially where women where concerned. He remembered that one night in Tortuga, when those two blondes had...

"Saying that..." Jeanette interrupted his reminiscing, to his disappointment, but the words wouldn't come out.

"Spit it out."

"You found..." she gulped slightly, raising her hand to massage her temple. "You found Amphitrite's Cave?"

"Well, practically. A map to said cave," he drummed his fingers together in an almost bored manner." But that's the problem isn't it?"

"Amphitrite's Cave..." her voice faltered, and trailed off into silence.

"Heard of it, then?" he was being patient, but if she didn't say something halfway coherent soon...

Jeanette glared furiously at him, "Of course! Amphitrite's Cave, it's...it's like the Holy Grail in my circle!"

"And your circle would be?"

"...Those with an interest in ancient deities of the sea."

"Ah. Quite a popular circle, then," Jack's sarcasm was so lucid it almost sounded as though he was entirely serious.

"You're the one who wants my help." But she didn't sound angry, she sounded... excited. But annoyed at the same time, the reason for which became obvious a moment later. "So you lost the map, then?"

"Lost wouldn't be the right word, exactly. Someone nicked it," he was defensive, as though his pride had been wounded by her accusatory tone.

"Because you were drunk," she voiced the statement matter-of-factly, as though it was really nothing out of the ordinary.

"True. Well, you know Tortuga as well as the next man... lass. You go under in an alley and when you wake up -"

"But it's gone."

"Only temporarily, as it were," he hastened to defend himself against her blunt words, "I can get it back. Know where the bastard that took it is goin' to be. It'll be in my cabin before the month is out."

"So why do you need me, then?"

"On account, Etty," he returned to his seat, leaning back casually, placing his feet on the table, ignoring the wrinkling of her nose in disapproval, "On account of the fact that the things your circle - as you called it - know, are the things that I _need_ to know. All I know about Amphitrite's Cave is treasure. Lots of treasure."

"For the last time, it's Jeanette. And lots of treasure... well, that's really all _you_ need to know anyway."

"But the map, darling, the map. I had a look at it before -"

"Before you got drunk and lost it?" she gave a matter-of-fact statement yet again, with more than a slight note of reproach.

"Again; stolen not lost," he didn't miss a beat. "Thing being though, I had a look, and it doesn't make sense. Isn't any group of isles I remember seeing before, and it's meant to be in the Caribbean. More to the point, I don't know the Amphitrite legends well myself. And I thought that you, with your... superior knowledge, might be able to..." he trailed off, gesturing at her to finish the sentence.

"To fill in the blanks? Help you out? Tell you where it is? Get you yet more treasure so you can get drunk _again_?" she did not even try to hide her disgust this time.

"Exactly," he seemed unperturbed by her words. "Glad you're so understanding."

"And why would I do something like that?" she was incredulous. "Knowing you, you'll probably get me killed within a week. Give me one good reason why."

"Play nice. And as for a reason, it'll be fun!" he was full of enthusiasm, which, judging by the look still plastered on her face, she did not share in the least.

"Fun? Sparrow, sailing around with you for an indefinite period of time is hardly fun." No. Not in the least.

"Because of my good looks and charm?" he continued, simply unflappable.

She snorted in amusement, "That's your second chance gone."

"For...for the old days?" he was hesitant now.

At this the girl snorted again, "The old days? You know I gave that up years ago. I had my fun."

"Once a pirate, always a pirate, love."

Jeanette shook her head seriously. "No, Jack. I wasn't even... Not now."

There was a silence as Jack's dark eyes bored into her own, and she struggled not to break his gaze.

"So there's no way I could convince you?" his tone was more severe now.

"It's not for me."

"But this is Amphitrite's Cave! How can you pass it up? It's a once in a lifetime opportunity!"

Jeanette clenched her fist, digging her nails into her palm, trying to distract herself from the truth in Jack's words.

"Sorry, Jack. Not even for Amphitrite's Cave. I can't... not..."

She broke off, and again there was a silence. This time Jeanette _did_ break the connection between their eyes, looking at the stone floor as though ashamed.

"Your choice," Jack got up from his chair, and looked down on Jeanette, a curious expression on his face. "Sorry, Etty."

Jeanette glanced upwards, hoping to discern what he was apologising for. But as was often the case, it was impossible to read the emotions on his face. Was he angry with her? Why was he sorry? Did he think that... did he know... but no, there was no way he could. "Sorry? It's hardly your fault. It's -"

"No, no, Etty, you misunderstand me. Not sorry for that."

Her eyes narrowed. He was being deliberately furtive now, and it was times like these when he could be the most... eccentric? Mad? Dangerous? "Then, what?"

"Sorry for this."

With a movement as quick as the crack of a whip, his hand pulled a pistol from his belt and cocked it, aiming with a steady hand at Jeanette's forehead. "Like I said, sorry. But you're coming with me, and reading that map, like it or not."

All trace of sadness or awkwardness disappeared from her face in that moment, and one could see the anger at her initial sighting of Jack boiling up again in her eyes. "You bastard. You lying, cheating, two-faced -"

"Only words, Etty. Doesn't alter the position that you seem to be in. Now," he paused and beckoned her to her feet with his pistol, which she did with a certain amount of bad grace, "if you're done insulting me, we can be on our way."

"I'm not going anywhere, Sparrow, don't you _dare_ act like you're going to -"

"What? Kidnap you?" he chuckled sardonically at his own words. "That's exactly what I'm doing, Etty, in case you were unfamiliar with the term."

"You said... said you'd '_sail off this bloody island straight away_' if I didn't agree... you said..."

"I lied," he shrugged coolly.

"You swore on the code."

"Code only applies to pirates, love. And as you've made it clear that you are most certainly _not_ a pirate, it sadly in no way applies to you."

"You can't make me -"

"Oh, but I can, Miss Harris. Or did you forget that I'm aiming my pistol straight at your pretty little head? Perhaps you need a little reminder?" he stepped forward and tapped the barrel of his pistol lightly against her forehead, the deadly metal cool against her skin, before pulling back. "You see? Pistol. Head. Not a difficult concept to grasp, I'd wager."

"You wouldn't dare," she was shaking, but it was more likely to be from anger than fear.

"But now is hardly the time for bets. So if you'd kindly move along."

There was no way out of this, or none that she could see anyway. She doubted he'd actually shoot her, but Jeanette wouldn't put it past Sparrow to knock her out and then carry her off the god-knows-where. He'd done worse things before, and considering she had something he wanted, or rather, considering the fact that she _was_ the something he wanted...

Well, if she was to be kidnapped, then she'd be kidnapped fully consciously at the very least. And the only way to attempt to secure consciousness would be to... fall in line, as it were, with Sparrow's demands.

"I need my books," she bit her lip as soon as she had spoken, "to translate the map for you." The words seemed traitorous as they spilled from her mouth.

He tilted his head to one side and grinned at her compliance, "We've got time for that. Go on." The pistol was aimed ever true at her head.

A deep frown on her face, Jeanette turned and stormed into her bedroom, knowing by the heavy footsteps that Jack was following her every step of the way. Books upon books were stacked up in piles in the corner of the small room, volumes spreading across the floor, some strewn across her small bed. Several were closed, but the majority were open, the contents of their pages laid bare.

And all were different, it was plain to see. Obviously, the colours varied. Some were a deep dark blue, several a red that would have been the colour of her old armchair, were it not so worn. Greens, yellows, even the odd purple. But it was not just the colours of the things that varied. The pages... some were old and yellowing, some new and the crisp white of a dove feather. Some had been meticulously handwritten in slender script, others were printed. A few were illustrated, like the Holy Books of old, the calligraphy of monks and nuns in silver and gold. Some were thick, and some were thin - but all gave off the musky odour of knowledge, of secrets hidden well however open the pages were, of ancient worlds and modern ideas, a familiar smell that seemed to be a mixture of dust and pipe smoke and something more.

Jeanette marched to the largest pile and began rifling through the various manuscripts. _Lancastrian Kings_, hardly relevant, and no more were her three volumes on _The Rise and Fall of the First Anglo-Saxon Empire_. The histories within these pages were modern compared to what she was looking for.

But there - yes, there - _Legends of Ancient Greece, Vol VI_. The five previous books in the series were nearby. And then she'd dig out her volumes on the Greek and Latin languages, her book of Grecian maps...

Within five minutes they had all been found and lay before her. The room was a mess, but it was her mess, and as is often the case with messes belonging to specific people, she knew her way around.

"A bit of light reading for the journey?" Jack quipped from behind her. She stopped herself from swearing at him again, instead keeping her tone icy.

"If you want me to solve your map, I need my books."

He didn't reply. Irked by the lack of a response, Jeanette gathered her collection into her arms, careful despite her anger, one hand laid across the top of the pile protectively, shooting an angry look at him over the topmost book.

"You haven't changed, Jack."

"Once a pirate -"

"- always a pirate. I know."

"You may as well get your sword," he commented as she walked towards the door.

"I thought," she stopped in her tracks, "I thought you just wanted me to translate the map."

"True, but swords are marvellous things. A multitude of uses. You never know when you're going to need one. I'm not going to let you carry it of course," he smirked, "but just as well to have it around."

Jeanette didn't turn, and prayed that the infuriating man didn't see the deep red blush of shame creep onto her cheeks. "I... I sold it."

He blinked. "You what?"

"I sold it. Sold. It. _Not a difficult concept to grasp, I'd wager_."

"Didn't go with the décor in the new place, then?"

"I needed the money." Her voice was quiet. A breath of wind passed by and the shells sang in the other room, eerie rather than comforting. She walked towards the noise, not noticing whilst lost in her thoughts that Jack paused for a moment before following.

Jeanette walked to the table and, placing her anthology down, began to empty the books from her lessons earlier out of her basket slowly. It was as though she was making every moment last as long as it could, without being so slow that it could be called a deliberate delay. When she came to the last book, she stopped, before speaking contemplatively. "I should leave a note."

"Saying? '_I've been kidnapped by a rogue pirate, might be late for work_'?"

"No. Don't be a -" she stopped herself before continuing her insult, mindful of the pistol _still_ pointing at her. "Some excuse as to my leaving. Else Mr Bryant... the militia might -"

"Fine, fine," he grumbled. "But do _try_ and be quick about it."

Ink was expensive, good paper even more so. The books had all been handed down to her, and she would not even dream of tearing a page from one of them. So, she had to make do with a lump of chalkstone that she kept near the fireplace, and her table, defiling its clean surface with a crude message.

_Mr Bryant -_

_My cousin is ill and I must go and care for her at once. Forgive me for not sending word, but I must leave without delay._

She wrote quickly, and soon the wood was marked with white scratches that managed to look neat despite the materials provided. She wondered why she'd bothered. Leaving suddenly without a word for an indefinate period of time, leaving no forwarding address... even Mr Bryant, liberal by the opinion of most,had some standards. She'd be dismissed for certain. Jack turned his head to read the makeshift letter, and raised an eyebrow.

"Why Bryant?"

"No one else would look for me." Before any comment could be made on this admission, Jeanette grabbed her basket, "Well then, let's go."

"By all means," he signalled to the doorway. "Ladies first."

Before she knew what was happening, the cottage was locked, and Jack was escorting her down the pathway, an arm around her shoulder in an imitation of a protective lover. This illusion was shattered for Jeanette by the sight of his pistol in the corner of her eye, the dark black hole of its barrel ever present. His tight hold governed her steps, directing her firmly along the twists and turns. They were heading away from the town, towards the shore in the distance. She guessed the _Black Pearl_ was hidden in a cove somewhere. But she couldn't ask. He had already warned her against speaking. "_Wouldn't want someone to hear the birds flying the coup, would we?_"

Barely an hour earlier her biggest concern had been cleaning her apron, preparing supper, not dying from the heat of the Caribbean evening. Now, with only the clothes she was standing in and a creel of books, she was being lead away by a notorious pirate - at gunpoint, no less - hidden under the darkness of night. Lead away from her island, her home, from the life she had made for herself.

She had the most ominous feeling that she would not see it again for a long time.


	5. Mistaken Identities and Angry Women

**CHAPTER FIVE  
_Mistaken Identities and Angry Women_**

The small boat left the white sand of the hidden beach, rowed by Jack's careful strokes, moving towards the dark shape in the distant sea. Jack continued rowing, and gradually more noises joined the sound of his oars cutting through the murky waves. Men talking, orders being given and taken up, hands on ropes and the creaking of wood beneath foot. The sounds of a ship and its crew at work.

"This is... the _Pearl_?"

"The _Black Pearl_. My ship."

As the shape grew ever clearer, Jeanette's eyes grew ever wider, until finally she could see the thing for what it was. So this... this was the legendary _Black Pearl_.

It was unlike any vessel she had seen before. It held the size and power of a galleon, every inch a strange doppelganger to a Naval flagship. Yet this power was coupled with the smooth, graceful lines of a schooner, wood coloured black, meticulously carved scenes on wooden panels, depicting mythical sea creatures leaping from and diving beneath a wooden sea. It was the perfect example of carpenter's craft.

And leading the vessel in all its travels was perhaps the most strange and marvellous piece of woodwork of it all. The figurehead - a beautiful woman, black like the rest of the ship, wings like an angel, stretching so far out it almost seemed she would fall off in her grasp for freedom. A bird was flying from her open fingers, each feather carved to detail, soaring up, up, and yet not quite away, having its own freedom and yet remaining firmly attached to its home.

Jeanette wondered as to what kind of bird it was - a swallow, maybe… and then she scolded herself for her stupidity on the matter. She could have sworn the sparrow was laughing at her too, with its wooden eyes.

Never had she met such as narcissist as Jack Sparrow.

The sails drifted to and fro like gossamer silk, a perfect black to match the rest of the ship and the night sky above, and with every breath of wind they seemed to sigh, as though the ship was truly alive, and longing to set sail again.

Ship and sails and figurehead – together it all gave off a ghostly aura, and a majestic feeling that it held dominion over the waters here, and anywhere else it would choose to go. It was so much alive that Jeanette could no longer refer to the _Black Pearl_ as 'it'. Truly, She was an entity unto herself.

"She's..."

"I know."

"You didn't exaggerate."

She could feel his grin in the shadows before he replied. "I never exaggerate."

--

"This, gentlemen, is Miss Jeanette."

The crew had gathered before their captain, and whilst they listened to what he was saying, all were watching this newcomer intently. This Miss Jeanette, this small brown-haired woman clutching some kind of basket to her chest as though it was a lifeline. A blue-eyed, blue-dressed, most likely blue-blooded lady. They didn't raise their voices, but it was clear from the scattered mutterings and the narrowed eyes that she was most certainly not what they had been expecting out of this trip to Nevis.

A man was elbowed to the front of the crew. As quartermaster he spoke for the crew, and he cleared his throat with a gruff cough before voicing their exact thoughts. "I thought you were getting a scholar, Jack. Not a... woman," there was a murmur of agreement. "Bad luck, and with us this close to a Naval base too."

A disgruntled '_humph_' came from Miss Jeanette at this, but before she could release what would likely be a torrent of curses against old superstitions, the people who carried them, and how they had no basis in modern society, Jack cut in.

"This _would be_ our scholar, Gibbs. And she's got a temper like the best of them, so I wouldn't provoke her, if I were you."

The crew took on a look of scepticism at Jack's explanation, and once again, their misgivings were voiced through Gibbs' mouth. "She's the one who's going to help us with the map?"

"That's right," both Jack and Miss Jeanette spoke simultaneously.

"But she's a girl."

Miss Jeanette stepped forward, eyes blazing, basket swung fiercely to her side. Gibbs wisely took a step back. "You... that's completely -"

"Completely right, that's what it is," again, Jack stopped Miss Jeanette from continuing an outburst, "a girl, a governess, a scholar, _and_ the one who's going t'help us with the map. Not a problem, is it?" his eyebrows were raised in question, his tone offhand, but his words held the order of the captain, and the captain's word was final.

Gibbs looked as though he had more to say on the matter, but thought better of it, and nodded his head, mumbling some agreement under his breath.

"Right then," Jack nodded, and then when he spoke again, his tone was deeper, more obviously commanding. "Get ready to make way."

The crew began to break up, taking last glances at Miss Jeanette before setting to their work. Far from shrinking at their scrutiny, she returned their looks with a scathing frown that made them all feel quite uncomfortable.

As Gibbs had said, it was bad luck to have a woman aboard, and they were already tempting fate by coming here, to Nevis, an island under the control of the British crown. Coming to Charleston itself, if you don't mind, the largest city on the island, with three Navy ships floating in the harbour, a huge Fort and a garrison to match it. A woman would have been bad enough, but this Miss Jeanette, this scholar... she was an _angry_ woman, make no mistake about that. They had all had their fair shares of angry women - mothers, sisters, lovers, pleasurable company - and it was fair to say that they did not eagerly anticipate another, regardless of what uses she might come to in regards to the map.

Now the captain was talking to the woman, and gesturing with both arms towards the entrance to his cabin. "Miss Jeanette, if you'd do me the honours."

Still giving off an air of fury, Miss Jeanette turned and followed his direction, walking through the door. The captain trailed after her, grinning all the way. Conversation erupted on deck as soon as the door shut.

Who was she? Why would the captain let her onboard? How could the scholar be a woman? Why was a governess not the least perturbed by being on a pirate ship?

Damned it they understood any of it.

But the captain had brought her here, and the captain was the one who would bring them this treasure. They were pirates after all, and they were prepared to face storms, tempests, the Navy and angry women all in one nightmarish voyage if it meant reaching gold at the end.

Soon almost the entire assembly had departed to different areas of the _Black Pearl_, readying the ship for the upcoming journey. But a few remained, including Gibbs, who squinted at the closed door with a pensive look.

"Swear I've seen that lass before somewhere."

"Can't have," Ladbroc answered his musings matter-of-factly.

But the older man wasn't convinced. "There's something –"

"She's just a governess," Ladbroc stopped him before he could continue his speculations, "nothing more to it." He clapped him on the shoulder to break him out of his trance, which seemed to work, and they parted ways, Gibbs walking off to help secure the rigging for the voyage. Yet, as he walked, there was still that nagging doubt in the back corner of his mind.

--

Jeanette entered the captain's cabin, still fuming at the derogatory attitude of Jack's crew. A large table and chairs sat in the middle of the room and she could just make out shapes along the walls that must have been wardrobes or cabinets of some kind. Moonlight streamed through the huge window that dominated one side of the cabin, illuminating the place in strange silver glow, but it did not reach all the corners, and so the place was bordered with shadow.

She had barely got in when Jack entered and closed the door behind him, clicking the latch shut carefully. It must be thick, she thought, for now any sounds outside had been muffled to the point of inaudibility, and all she could hear were the sea waves and the creaking of the furniture as the ship rolled from one side to the other.

That and Sparrow's voice, of course.

"Doesn't do to get so mad, Etty. Could cause yourself an injury," he commented as he turned around to face her.

"You proved you could call me Jeanette out there, would it trouble you so much to continue in here?"

"Yes," he stated dryly.

She shot him an irate glare, "Where are we sailing to?"

Now he was walking over to stand in front of her, "We're setting out for Antigua. Should be there in three days or so."

"Antigua, why on earth..." suddenly, she realised what he had just said. "Only three days?"

"You're not aboard some little Navy boat, love. The _Pearl's_ the finest ship in the Caribbean. Might even make it in less, if the wind picks up."

Jeanette did not reply, instead circled so that she was facing the window, staring out to the ocean below, crossing her arms tightly.

This whole thing... it seemed like it should be some fantastic dream - or nightmare. Kidnapped in the dead of night, put aboard a ghost ship, surrounded by pirates, sailing away to Antigua in search of a treasure map. And yet it was familiar to her. Not being kidnapped, obviously, but the sight of the sea, the sounds of the crew, the smells of salt and -

But it would do her no good to fall to nostalgia. She was here under protest, for heavens sake, not as a willing participant in this ridiculous quest. And to make matters worse she was with Jack Sparrow, a mad captain, one of the most galling men she had ever met, disrespectful, manipulative... He had joined her now, she realised with a side-glance, looking too at something unknown beneath the waters. Not acknowledging her presence, just looking, as though waiting for something.

"Out on deck, the man..." Jeanette surprised herself by speaking, her voice breaking the hush that had fallen on the cabin. "The quartermaster... was that Joshamee Gibbs?"

"Gibbs?" Jack still didn't look at her, repeating the name as though to the sea. "I forgot you knew him."

"Did he..." her question tailed off, and Jack completed it for her.

"Recognise you? Might have had an inclining, but he never knew you as..." he turned for a moment and motioned at her, his eyes fixing on her dress, her hair that had been neatly braided into a plait on the journey in the boat. "Miss Jeanette is just a scholarly young woman, rare as such a thing might be."

"Yes," she gave a quiet affirmation, "and you were the only one who ever managed to get Jeanette out of me."

"You make it sound like I threatened you. As if I'd ever dream of -" At that she faced him, raising one eyebrow disdainfully. "Well, I didn't threaten you _that_ time."

"You got me drunk, if I recall rightly," a small, sad smile played on her features.

"What was it, rum?"

"Lord no, it was justcheap gin, remember, we..." her thoughts drifted into the past, and the sentence was left unfinished.

Jack paused for a moment, and then, "Etty, why did you -"

"There are more pressing matters we should be discussing," she brought his question to a halt.

"Such as?" he didn't enquire as to her changing the subject.

"Amphitrite's Cave. That is, after all, why I'm here."

"Ah, yes. Of course." he walked away from the window to the table, leaning back against it in a cavalier manner. "Go on then."

She spun to stand facing him, "What do you want to know?"

"Everything you know about this treasure." Then, he decided to add an afterthought, "And the lass that put it there."

Jeanette sank down onto the window seat, winding a loose strand of hair around a finger as though nervous. "You're not going to believe me. Hardly anyone..." she sighed and tucked the strand behind her ear, before meeting his gaze. "Most people think it's just a myth, an old fairy tale."

"Try me."

"Well," she paused, "Amphitrite's not a lass, exactly."

He looked at her quizzically, "Can't be a bloke with a name like that."

"N-no." Jeanette began to worry her lower lip.

"Then what is she? A strumpet, an angel, a mermaid, a -"

"She's a goddess."


	6. Bedtime Stories

**CHAPTER SIX  
_Bedtime Stories_**

Whatever reply the captain might have given to this admission was lost in groans of timber and rope as the _Black Pearl_ shuddered violently. But neither Jack nor Jeanette moved an inch despite the sounds; each remained firmly fixed in their positions until the clamour died away and a new sound began, the crash of the waves as the ship cut elegantly through them. They were setting off, slipping out of the cove, now as silent as the grave. Out to the open sea, and off to Antigua.

"Shouldn't you go and -" but Jack stopped Jeanette with a flick of the hand before her suggestion could be made.

"A goddess."

Jeanette looked down to the floor without a word.

"A goddess," he repeated persistently.

"Yes."

"As in..." he gave a series of wild gesticulations, fingers splayed wide, as though he was trying to scare a small child.

She glanced up, meeting his inquiring look between a few loose wisps of hair, "Yes, Sparrow, as in that kind of goddess."

"Oh," he shrugged. "Just checking. Carry on."

"Well..." she lingered with her thoughts for a moment, trying to decide the best way to go about this. Sparrow had seemed to have accepted Amphitrite as a goddess, which was more than a lot of people even got close to. But would he go so far as to believe the story in its entirety? _It doesn't matter,_ said the logical part of her mind, _he wanted to hear what I knew - whether he believes me is no consequence of mine._ But still, she hesitated, choosing her words carefully as she continued. "Well, I suppose one should start with her family."

"Her family? Etty, I want to know about her treasure, not about her dear old Aunty."

"Quiet, it's important," exasperated at being disrupted this early in the tale, she sucked in a deep breath, before returning to her oration. "Amphitrite had a royal lineage like no other. Her blood was bluer than... the ocean, I suppose," Jeanette chuckled at this, whilst Jack remained perplexed. By way of explaining her laughter, she added, "She was the granddaughter of Oceanus and Tethys, who -"

"Oceanus. I'm guessing he's somehow related to the ocean, yes?"

"Don't interrupt," she said sternly.

"Sorry," he raised his hands high above is head in overzealous apology. "Please, keep on going."

"Well you're right. Oceanus was one of the Titans - you know, the giants that ruled before the Gods - and he was the Lord of the Oceans. A lot of the Greeks believed he was the origin of all things, being the master of the waters... Tethys was the mother of the greatest rivers in the universe. She was also the childhood nurse of Hera, who rose to become the Queen of the Gods."

Jack frowned at this, his brow creasing in uncertainty, "But, and correct me if I'm wrong, love, weren't the Titans _against_ the Gods?"

"Yes, except Oceanus and his wife. They were the exceptions to the rule," at least it seemed like he was listening to what she was saying. "Well, they had a daughter, Doris -"

"What kind of a name is Doris for a goddess?"

"Quiet, it's a Greek name! Doris married Nereus, the old man of the sea, a very gentle and wise sea-god. And Doris' third daughter was Amphitrite."

"Warms my heart, all this family talk, it really does," Jack sat back heavily on the table. "But how is this relevant?"

"To prove that she was steeped in sea-royalty right from the start. Just let me tell my story, Sparrow, this is what you wanted out of me, and I'm going to do it right.

"A lot of people mistakenly think Amphitrite was an Oceanid – that's the name given to the offspring of Oceanus. The female Oceanids were all sea-goddesses of sorts, and each held guardianship of a particular spring, or river - something along those lines. But 'Oceanid' actually only applied to the _direct_ children of Oceanus."

"And how many of them were there?" Jack slipped in a query whilst she took a breath after her little speech.

"Three thousand, give or take the odd nymph."

"Blimey."

Jeanette continued as though she hadn't heard him, "Amphitrite actually had a greater title; she was one of the Nereids, as all the fifty daughters of Nereus were called. They were an 'elite' group of friendly sea nymphs who guarded the oceans and helped to rescue drowning sailors."

"A bit like mermaids, then?"

"Yes, but without the fins. And Amphitrite was the most beautiful, loving and chaste of the lot."

"Isn't that always the way..." Jack muttered to himself. "Beautiful, loving, and then they have to go and be _chaste_. Ruins the whole bloody..." he looked up to see Jeanette giving him a cutting look. "Sorry."

"Well, then Poseidon arrives on the scene."

"Poseidon."

"Poseidon," she repeated.

"As in..." yet again he started to gesture wildly.

"Yes, the god, Poseidon."

"Again, just -"

"Just checking, I know."

He nodded, and Jeanette picked up where she had left off.

"Poseidon first saw her dancing at Naxos - you know, the island - with the other Nereids, and as gods often do in these sorts of stories, he fell madly in love with her - promptly asked her to marry him. But rather than throwing herself at his feet, as her fellow nymphs would have been tempted to do, she refused him. She wanted to remain a virgin."

"Typical woman. Oh, didn't say a word..." he defended himself before Jeanette could make comment.

"Amphitrite fled from him to the farthest ends of the sea - the Atlantic in those days."

"Ah," Jack brought up his hand to twirl his moustache absently, giving the impression of mulling things over. "And the Caribbean therein?"

"Yes. Amphitrite hid among the Caribbean islands for many years in a cave, isolated from all her nymph friends, sisters and aunts. To keep herself occupied, she dived to the ocean floor, and drew up all the treasures lost over the ages to place in her cave -"

"As lonely nymphs tend to do," he interjected.

"- and she continued helping shipwrecked sailors, not caring that they weren't Greek. She gained quite a following among the locals, who left her yet more offerings - more treasure to add to her store - not that she cared for it."

"I'd have taken it off her," Jack grumbled.

"Well, that's why we're here, isn't it?"

The captain grinned at this.

"Poseidon was undaunted by her flight, and sent many to look for her. Among them was the dolphin, who, after long wanderings, found her in the Caribbean. He pleaded the case of Poseidon so well that Amphitrite found herself persuaded to marry the god, and return to the Greek islands on the back of the dolphin."

"Very easily persuaded, wasn't she?"

"It was the only sensible option. If she hadn't gone willingly, then the dolphin would have returned and reported to Poseidon, he would have come and taken her by... It wouldn't have ended well, for anyone.

"But she didn't completely yield to the god. When the dolphin suggested it, she flatly refused to say anything to Poseidon about the cave and its contents. It was to be kept secret, as insurance should the union not turn out well. That was her accord with the dolphin - help her hide the island, or she wouldn't come freely. So he agreed, and together they hid the island, and drew up a map telling of its location, laying a spell on the parchment to protect it from the worst of theravages of time."

"This would be our map," never one to stay out of a good story, Jack was keen to supply information to aid the telling of one.

"It would appear so, as a matter of fact. When she got back to Greece, it was given out that Delphinus - that's the dolphin - had found Amphitrite in Atlas, near North Africa. He was placed among the stars as a constellation as a reward. Anyway, the couple were wed, and Amphitrite became the Goddess of the Sea."

"If she really is the... Goddess of the Sea... and I'm not saying she isn't before you say anything, love - then why haven't I heard of her? Being a sea-faring bloke and all." He fixed his dark, sober eyes with her own blue, equally serious ones whilst waiting for an answer.

"Put it this way - Poseidon wasn't exactly the most devoted husband. There were plenty more, ah, nymphs in the sea. Amphitrite, whilst being his legal wife, was rather pushed to the side by his many... liaisons."

This disclosure prompted a nod, a smile, and then, after a moment, a question from Jack, "What happened to the map?"

"It remained a secret for years, but eventually it came out that it had been passed down Amphitrite's female line, to her eldest daughter Rhode, who lived on the island of which she was a patron - Rhodes. Rhode in turn passed it to her only daughter, Elektryo. But Elektryo died young, before she could marry and pass it on again."

"And so the map was lost..." Jack mused quietly to himself.

"And the location of Amphitrite's Cave with it."

Silence and stillness washed over the cabin after those words, the only movement being the moonlight that danced across the floor as clouds drifted through the sky. Neither party felt the need to speak. Jack was clearly lost in his thoughts, perhaps formulating some sort of plan. Jeanette was equally detached, but she was looking at the sea outside, her eyes following the movement of the waves, lost in the sway of the ship. She remembered this, remembered how it felt; the rocking of the vessel beneath her welcomed her back, like it...

"So," she broke her train of thought abruptly. Jack looked up, and waited for her to continue. And waited. And waited. He rolled his wrist and fingers around, prompting her to speak. "So, eh," she could think of nothing to say, "have you... err..." _Think of something, idiot._ "The map," she blurted out the first thing that came into her mind.

"What of it?"

"How did you..."

"Raided a merchant ship a while ago with the _Pearl_. Man on board," he chuckled at the memory of Jenkins, "had a chest he seemed exceedingly keen for me not to get hold of."

"So you..."

"Wouldn't have been a self-respecting pirate if I hadn't. Consequently I had a look around in it, and something... I've always had an eye for maps, and this one was - unusual like, more than it seemed - well, I was right, wasn't I? So I then had a look at the map, and it was all written in Ancient Greek. Well, I got the gist of it, know a bit of Greek myself - Amphitrite's Cave - but not recognising it, I thought I'd look up an old friend."

"And threaten her, and kidnap her, and take her off to god-knows where."

Ah. So, it seemed Jeanette was still angry about that.

"Sorry about that, Etty. Needs must and all that."

"Indeed," Jeanette did not bother to correct him with regards to her name this time; she merely accompanied her reply with sniff of disdain. Despite this sniff, Jack remained positively serene, his fingers idly tapping out a tune on the table surface. Then, the still-annoyed governess spoke - "Now that's all said and done, aren't you going to tell me how you got the _Black Pearl_ back?"

He raised an eyebrow, "Aren't you a bit old for bedtime stories?"

"No more, it would seem, than you," Jeanette retorted.

Smiling in agreement, Jack walked over to the window seat and sprawled himself across it, like some kind of large cat.

"Well, I suppose one should with this dashingly handsome young pirate captain..."

* * *

**  
A/N:** Just so you all know, some parts of Jeanette's anecdote are of my own invention - namely the parts involving Amphitrite's Cave and the map. According to Greek legend, Amphitrite _did _flee Poseidon, but it was to Atlas rather than the Caribbean, and it was there that the dolphin found her - there was no treasure involved. The rest of it, her lineage, her story, is all taken from the original Greek myth. 


	7. Watching and Waiting

**CHAPTER SEVEN  
_Watching and Waiting_**

She can't breathe.

The air is being drawn out of her. Rasping groans fill her ears, but she can't tell who is giving them, if it's her or... someone else. She has a feeling there's someone else nearby, but there seems to be more than one groan. Faces swim before her, a blur of colours and shapes, some familiar, others new, all with strange expressions, some seem to be shouting, others laughing, but their lips move without words. It feels like she's falling, but staying stationary at the same time, the rush of wind beating sharply upon her face and eyes.

And then darkness, and the next thing she knows there's a sudden weight - firstly on top of her, and then she becomes conscious of the fact that it crushes into her from all sides, stiff and yet parts are oddly soft as it presses against her. And there's a smell, a terrible smell. Something is moving beneath her, jostling her and the rest of this load. The realisation dawns upon her that it is cold - very cold - and that she can hardly feel anything, not her hands, nor her feet, and that something is blocking out all light.

Suddenly she is back in the cabin, where she was only hours before, and the good captain stands before her, grinning from ear to ear.

"Sorry about that, Etty. Needs must and all that."

He grabs her shoulders, pushes her away, and she is falling again. Only this time she lands with a thud on her back. There is something different covering her now, lighter, coarser, and yet she can still only make out more darkness. Then something begins to fall on her, the pressure on her body increases with every second that passes - and still she cannot move. She finds through trial that she can scream, and beat her fists against the strange cover, and others begin to scream too, and someone is laughing, and there's light and falling and earth and pain and then -

--

Jeanette sat up, panting heavily. For a moment she thought she was still in the nightmare, what with the darkness surrounding her and the thick air, and she groped frantically around with her hands, her head flicking from side to side, trying to discern what place her sleep had taken her to now.

It was somewhere different, of this she was sure, yet her heart still thumped quickly in her chest, every beat echoing in her ears like a drum of war. Bringing her hand to her forehead, she felt sweat beneath her fingertips, and still her skin was cold. Her mouth was dry and her breaths were coming in sharp gasps, but however much air she took in was not enough. It was as though there was a deep, dark void within her chest, brought on by sheer terror.

But gradually the pale light of morning filtered through her sleepy eyes, and she knew that she was awake.

_Where_ exactly she was awake still eluded her. Not in her home, that much was certain - the blanket that she could feel draped around her waist was too thick to be her own. Perhaps she had fallen asleep at the Bryant's, in the nursery... but then who had allowed her to sleep on, and covered her up?

And then she remembered.

_Damn the dream._ She drew herself up, and banged her head on the hard wood of her berth, further serving to wake her up and replace the feelings of fear with ones of annoyance. _Damn Sparrow. Damn... oh, everything._

Tentatively rubbing her head in an attempt to alleviate the pain, she untangled her limbs from the blanket and swung around, placing her legs down on the ground – groaning as she felt water under her feet. _Well, it's your own fault_, she grumbled mentally to herself, _after all, you were the one who demanded to sleep separately from the rest of the crew._

--

"I can't!" she had protested after Jack had told her to go and rig up a hammock with the others.

"'Course you can," he replied without hesitation. "You just take hammock and -"

"No, Sparrow, I can't sleep down there with the crew! It's not -"

"You're on a pirate ship, Etty, do you really think anyone would be concerned over the propriety of the situation?" this was clearly a rhetorical question, for he continued. "Speaking of ships, whilst you're on mine it's _Captain_ Sparrow."

"It's the lack of concern over propriety that worries me, _Captain_!"

"When Anamaria was here, she -"

Jeanette shook her head in confusion, "Anamaria?"

"Well, she was -"

She interrupted before he could finish. "Please, there must be somewhere I could... a cabin..."

"To be frank with you, Etty, I still don't see a problem with a hammock. Rig up some screens, it's not like you -"

"Please, J-... Captain Sparrow," she kept all sarcasm from his title this time, and perhaps it was that which caused him to pause. He closed his eyes for a moment, raising a finger to his chin, before snapping them open with a grin.

"I've got an idea."

--

_And this was it,_ Jeanette lifted one foot from the ground gingerly. _The brig._

When he'd brought her down here, she'd thought for one terrible moment that Sparrow had actually intended for her to sleep in the brig itself, bars and all, maybe even locking her in. A misunderstanding that he'd been quick to play on - going so far as to open the cell door and gesture inside, before laughing at the shocked expression on her face.

Bastard.

No, what he'd meant was this small berth on the other side of the cells, built into the wall. Built so that a crewmember could watch over particularly dangerous prisoners. There was no company for her at the present.

"But you never know your luck," she muttered sullenly. "Not that I've got any luck to know in the first place."

Grousing under her breath was for her, as with many people, the normal start to the morning - and today was no exception. Still slightly bleary-eyed she stumbled to her feet, cursing all the while at the morning, at the night, at dirty, deceitful, good-for-nothing pirates, and at any other damn thing that came to mind - half the time she neither knew what she was complaining about, nor cared.

Automatically her hand moved to grope for the small shard of mirror she usually used to dress by, and promptly found something else to curse about, because, of course, it wasn't there – it was back at home along with the rest of her meagre possessions. With a sigh she reached back, and proceeded to re-plait her now loose hair, scraping flyaway strands behind her ears.

Although she felt positively _heavy_ with dirt and grime, she had no desire to smell like a fishmonger, thus washing with the water on the ground was out of the question. And so, once her shoes had been slipped on, it was a tidy but not entirely dirt-free Miss Jeanette who emerged on deck.

Still, compared to the men who were already there, she was positively glowing with cleanliness, sticking out like a perfectly manicured finger amongst a collection of sore thumbs. And the thumbs, or, to end the metaphor, the pirates, worked as a team, moving in perfect unison throughout the morning tasks. She stood alone, a small, frail little governess, pale as death, right in the middle of everything, almost getting knocked over by a hurrying sailor. A spanner in the works, and yet not actually in the works at all, a curious observer, almost unearthly.

Yet neither party really bothered with the other. True the pirates nudged each other, and low murmurs filled the air as they looked her up and down through the corners of their eyes - but they made no move to talk to her. And she barely noticed the gossip - she was so used to this behaviour surrounding her in Charleston that it seemed entirely normal – indeed, she would have been uneasy if they _hadn't_ started whispering.

Soon the low noises drifted into silence - there were jobs to do, a voyage to make, Antigua to reach. And for Jeanette... there was the view. Drifting to look over the edge of the ship she expected to see nothing but blue sea, but as she looked to the stern she saw a thin green line of land on the farthest point of the horizon. That must be Nevis. Odd. It was quicker this way, to be certain, skirting round the island would put them on a course that avoided many of the treacherous reefs that bordered on Antigua - but surely a pirate ship would get as far out to sea as quickly as possible?

_But then how would the captain preserve his reputation of reckless insanity?_ She smiled to herself at this. Of course, Sparrow hadn't got the nickname of "Mad Jack Sparrow" back on the islands for playing it safe. And anyway, if anyone on land managed to see the ship, the legendary _Black Pearl_ - which was rather unlikely in itself - they'd either think their eyes were playing tricks, or be too scared to raise the alarm.

Jeanette supposed that it wouldn't be too long before Mad Jack himself put in an appearance, and told her what he intended to do with her throughout the voyage. Work for her passage, probably, though she'd never asked for it in the first place. Yes, she could just hear him now - "_This isn't a pleasure cruise, love._"

But yes, not long to wait till her predictions were confirmed, she'd imagine. Gibbs was at the helm at the moment, but she was sure that Jack would be along to relieve him soon. She had no doubt that he wanted to spend as much time as possible guiding the _Black Pearl_ through the waves, fulfilling his right as her captain.

_And who wouldn't?_ With a ship like this you could go anywhere, do anything. She had been here less than a day, and already it was plain to see that the _Pearl_ was just as much a part of Jack as he was of her. She was personified in the beautiful figurehead - she was his lady, he was her lover. They'd do anything for each other, she'd fight through tempests and hurricanes to get him safely to port, and he'd (if the stories she'd heard last night were true) search for ten long years just to feel her sway beneath his feet again, braving torture and mutiny and death all the while.

And soon they'd be unified again, cutting through the sea like a knife through paper in search of a new adventure, a new treasure, and dragging Jeanette along with them.

But for now, for Jeanette and the _Pearl_, the two seafaring women, all they could do was wait, wait for the man who would soon hold both their fates in his hands.

--

The room was dark. That was the first impression the young man had as he crossed the threshold and closed the door. It reminded him of a cave, of the lairs of the monsters his mother had told him of as a child to keep him out of trouble. Yes, there was some light in the room - the golden glow of a solitary candle - but the candle was dying, and failed to pass any illumination the only other living thing that resided in here.

The shape. It sat there as though it was on a throne. A regal silhouette, the profile of something with power and pride, made formless by a thick, dark cloak, a gaping, black hole where its face was hidden.

It laughed at the cautious entrance of the young man, who stiffened and blanched. The laughter was like a bubbling spring, clear and soft - and yet sharp, as though the water was polluted, poisoned.

"Come, Damon," it spoke, "there is nothing to be afraid of. Come." The voice was melodic, silky; the words ran off each other with ease, tinted by an accent that Damon had never heard before. It made his legs turn to jelly, his forehead grow damp with sweat. And yet he walked forward.

"Commander, I... we..." he took a deep breath, shook his head, pulled himself together. "We have had word from Nevis. The bird arrived but ten minutes ago."

"Ten minutes," the voice was cold. "I must wonder, Damon, why did it take so long to inform me?"

"Commander, forgive me," he trembled, "I was only... I..." he sounded desperate, wringing his hands together, as though he was both pleading and praying.

"Enough," the shape sounded bored. "It matters not. The message."

"Thank you... thank you..." but Damon stopped as he saw the shape stiffen, and drew another deep breath. "Commander, the message was from Charleston. It says that the _Black Pearl_ docked in a cove not two miles from the city. It left again in under an hour, making in the direction of... of..."

"Antigua," the shape murmured.

"Y-Yes, Commander," Damon confirmed. "They say... the message, they say this means -"

"I know what this means, Damon," the shape snapped, causing him to cease speaking abruptly. "It means that Jack Sparrow has found where Simmons has made for with the map. The fool."

Damon was too afraid, and too sensible, to enquire as to whom the insult was directed at - Sparrow or Simmons. The silence was brief, and then the shape began to issue orders, now brisk and business like.

"Fetch Belos. Contact our associates in St. John's. Tell them to tip off Rowdon. Tell him that the _Black Pearl_ is coming to Antigua. Inform Simmons of the situation. Watch Sparrow," the shape paused for a moment, and then continued to speak in that same silky voice. "And prepare the _Alecto_."

Damon nodded fervently, clearly too petrified of the shape to speak, and backed out of the room, bent over in a crooked bow, eyes fixed to the ground. He made such haste that he almost tripped over his own feet, causing another sharp laugh from the shape. He went even paler, and hurried even more, his hand shaking slightly as he closed the door.

The shape was left alone. It waited for a moment, and then it spoke again, so softly now that even if Damon had had his ear pressed against the door he could not have heard the words.

"And so it ends."

The whisper faded into the night, just as the room faded into darkness as the candle spluttered and died.


	8. Arguments Aplenty

**CHAPTER EIGHT  
**_**Arguments Aplenty**_

The baking afternoon sun glared upon the deck of the _Black Pearl_, unrelenting in its heat. There was a cool wind blowing, and yet it seemed that the huge black sails were gulping in every morsel of the breeze, leaving none to placate the crew who toiled beneath them. Despite this, the men carried on working in full swing (though cursing all the while), laughing at each other's jokes and keeping their eyes to the distance, waiting until Antigua appeared.

But Jeanette was not among them.

She had been waiting there on that morning of two days ago, on deck, watching Nevis fade away, lost to a daydream, when his voice had come out of nowhere, causing her to start abruptly.

"_You know, love, this isn't a pleasure cruise_," she mimicked his words now as she swabbed the floor rather too vigorously. "I knew he'd say something like that, I just _knew_," here she punctuated the word with a violent jab of the mop, "he would."

Jeanette was below deck, attacking the galley floor with a passion, with whatever weapons she could muster.

Or, as Jack had put it, cleaning.

"Cleaning, _me_, I ask you," she ranted to herself, continuing to highlight certain words with stabs of the mop, "I'm not a maid, I'm a... I'm a _governess_, and he wants me to clean _this_ like there isn't anything else I could... when he knows_ very well_ that I can... that I _can't_... that I could..."

She stopped both grumbling and mopping and, with a deep sigh, wiped her brow on the sleeve of what had become a filthy dress. Most of her was filthy now, her apron was almost black, her face was smudged all over, her hands were calloused and dusty, and her hair (whilst still tied back) was a darker brown than it had ever been, stained with gunpowder and grime and God-knows-what. All this provided a stark contrast to her skin, which was as pale as ever, her not having been up on deck except early in the morning and late at night. The overall effect, she imagined, was not most attractive.

"Not that I'd _know_," she took up the cleaning again with renewed ardour, "because, of course, these _pirates_ don't have a single _mirror_, there's not a single bloody... content to _wallow_ in their own... and let _me_... and he _makes_ me... when he..."

"First sign of insanity, Etty."

Jeanette almost jumped at the sudden voice from behind her, but caught herself just in time, and managed to curb her response to just a stiffening of the shoulders and an even tighter grip on the mop. No, it wouldn't do to jump, or shout, or scream, or make any response of that kind. Not when she knew very well that the voice belonged to _him_. Stay cool, Miss Jeanette, stay calm.

"What is?" The tone of the question was just as she wanted, sharp, disdainful, and wonderfully indifferent.

"Talking to yourself." Oh, she could just _see_ his smug expression, his coy grin. She was going to... but no, no, that wouldn't do at all. Remember, Jeanette. Cool. Calm. Wonderfully, blissfully indifferent.

_First sign of insanity is it? I wonder when **you** started doing it?_ Yes, that was it. Keep it all in the mind, all in the mind and in the thrusts of the mop and the grinding of the teeth. That would do it. Any minute now he'll leave; he'll have done his aggravating for the day.

But apparently Jack was _not_ done with her, because the departing footsteps that Jeanette was so eagerly anticipating did not come. Turning round, she saw with more than a slight twinge of frustration that he was - to all intents and purposes - staying put; he was leaning nonchalantly on the wall with one hand, head inclined to one side, the picture completed by that very grin Jeanette had visualised in her mind.

"I came to tell you the good news."

"What? You decided to take me back to Nevis and forget this whole thing?"

"Now, now," he shook a finger at her. "We're coming up to Antigua. We'll anchor down till nightfall and then..."

"And then?"

"Then the real insanity beings."

"Oh yes?" Jeanette raised one eyebrow quizzically as she propped the mop up against the wall, feigning almost non-interest in an attempt to hide the uneasy feelings she had as a result of his word choice. "And what form would this insanity take?"

"A little... expedition of sorts. Taking a jaunt into St. John's."

Jeanette turned sharply, and the mop fell to the ground with a clatter. But she made no attempt to pick it up, her eyes wide and mouth half-open in disbelief. "You're insane."

He grinned.

"It can't be done! You can't just... Jack, you can't just waltz into the capital of Antigua in a rowing boat! It's... it's..."

"Insane?" Jack suggested, half in seriousness. But Jeanette didn't even bother to respond to his quip.

"Jack, you can't be serious! It's guarded by Fort James, for God's sake! Fort James! It's one of the largest naval outposts in the bloody Caribbean, and you expect them not to see your boat!"

"We won't be in the boat for long, love," he bent down to pick up the fallen mop. "It's only a quick trip to shore."

Jeanette seemed incapable of saying anything, her mouth opened and shut without sound as she tried to give response that would sum up the range of emotions she was feeling a the moment - not one of them pleasant. Eventually, she managed to get out a single question, "We?"

Jack handed the mop to her. "You didn't think I'd go ashore without you, did you? Such little faith, it really breaks my heart." Seeing that Jeanette was still apparently speechless, he elaborated, "We're going to pick up that map I told you about."

"But... why do I..."

"Well, we're not exactly going to '_pick up_' the map, per say," he continued as though he hadn't heard her question. "More... retrieve it from less worthy owners. And this method of retrieval could possibly mean you have to make an... impromptu translation of said map, savvy?"

"Oh, I see," the governess had found her tongue again. "We're not just sailing in a little dingy past one of the largest Naval outposts in the Caribbean for a jaunt into St. Johns, we're just sailing in a little dingy past one of the largest Naval outposts in the Caribbean to steal something, and then translate it in the dead of night, surrounded by militia, before making a stealthy getaway. I feel much more secure."

"And quite rightly so," he nodded in agreement with her sarcasm. "So - I'll see you at sundown then."

"I'm not going."

His grin widened at her words, and he twisted round, and was about to return to the deck when Jeanette spoke up again.

"I'm not going."

Jack groaned heavily, rolling his eyes. Women. Why did they have to be so... _difficult_? "Look, there's no need to fret, love, " he turned his head back to look at her. "I just need you there in case we only get a quick look at the map. We'll be in and out in a jiffy."

"I'm not going." Rather than sounding louder and firmer, as Jack would have expected on her repeating the statement a third time, she was quiet, practically whispering. "I'm not going to St. Johns. You can't make me."

"Let's not get into this 'make me' business again, Etty, " he sighed, exasperated, "we both know how this is going to go. You'll threaten me with your mop, I'll threaten you with me gun, gun will cancel out mop and that'll be the end of the matter."

Still she shook her head. "Jack, it's suicide. What if they -"

"Well they bloody won't, all right?" he snapped, striding over towards her. "I swear, you never used to be this -" But he halted his tirade, and his walk, when he noticed the steady rise of colour in Jeanette's cheeks. She was nigh hysterical already, heaven knew why, and hysterical and angry was likely not a good combination. "Look," he held up both his hands, as though trying to physically stop the red flush that was forming in her features, "look. It'll be fine. We'll be safe as houses, I promise."

Jeanette sniffed disdainfully. Apparently she had a very low opinion of his promises. Perhaps this was wise, considering they were the promises of a pirate, but still...

"Look, I'm sure there's a spare cutlass lying around somewhere, or a flintlock. You'd look very dashing and ferocious, I'm sure, with a pistol tucked down your apron." Jack tried to make light of the situation, but his suggestion backfired, for no sooner had he finished than Jeanette's sharp words began again.

"You want to arm me? Are you _mad_? If they catch me with a gun, they'll take me in for sure! You pick up a weapon, you become a target! You _know _that! How could you even _think_ that -"

"All right! All right! You'll have swords, no guns, daggers, or bloody bows and arrows - no weapons of any kind, presumptuous a thought as it might be! But for the Lord's sake, don't - just stow it, woman!"

For a moment Jack though she was going to start screeching again, and he prepared to cover his ears. But to his eternal joy he only received a murderous glare (not something he usually took pleasure in receiving, but given the circumstances), before she began once more to jab the floor with the mop, with such vigour that he wondered for a moment if she intended to bore a hole right through the wood.

"I'll see you at sundown," he repeated his farewell, and this time there was no interruption from the governess, though he felt her angry eyes fixed upon him as he turned. Just as well. He had things to do, preparations to make. Maps had to be consulted to find a suitable cove to anchor in, he had to assemble a boarding party, and, of course, the ship wouldn't sail herself.

And so he left, leaving Jeanette alone, with nothing but a mop and her thoughts for comfort.

_There's nothing to worry about._ She mentally reassured herself. _It'll be just like Jack said. It's a quiet night, the ship's well hidden - no one will be expecting a thing. Keep your head down and no harm done. No harm done._ With that she threw herself into task, quickly picking up the old rhythm of curses and oaths, blocking all misgivings and fears with the tedious chore.

No one would be expecting a thing.

Neither she nor Jack had any idea how wrong the statement would prove to be.

* * *

**A/N:** Sorry it's taken me so long to update, and that this update itself is rather short. I've had exams, coursework, and have more still to come, so expect it to be another month or so before the tale can really start up again. 

I've removed all the older author's notes where I replied to reviews, as apparently it's against the rules. From now on I'll reply to all reviews via email or PM, and author's notes will only be on the latest chapter, and will be removed when the next one is uploaded.

Once again, thank you for your patience, and I hope you're enjoying the story!


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